


Spark

by eyesfixedonthesun22



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drug Use, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Fluff and Smut, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms, Voyeurism, cursing, gender neutral reader, stoner bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesfixedonthesun22/pseuds/eyesfixedonthesun22
Summary: There was no particular cause for celebration, no world threat thwarted, and no one’s birthday. The Avengers were relaxing.





	Spark

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to @barnesrogersvstheworld 4K writing challenge. My prompt was “Come over here and sit by me.” Thank you so much for hosting this, Attie! I’ve had a fascination with the idea of stoner!bucky for months now. Can’t wait to write more for him.

Rooftops made you smile. It didn’t matter if it was a rooftop club, sprinting across various buildings to catch the villain of the moment, or the hidden perch you’d made at your childhood home. Being high above everyone, in your own little universe, made you smile. The Avengers Compound had the best rooftop. Technically they had the best of everything, if you asked Tony. Screw the rest; as long as you could keep the rooftop. 

In the winter, the climate control dome was raised against the elements; giving off the feeling of living in a temperate snow globe. Once things started warming, the dome was lowered, and the rooftop became a mecca for the entire team. 

The roof was expansive with plenty of nooks and hideaways to enjoy a good book, sunbathe, or relax undisturbed. It was littered with greenery. Flowers of all shapes and colors dotted across the shades of green. The east end housed the large garden area that was a favorite of Wanda’s. The west end had a brilliant sparkling pool half-shaded by a large wooden pergola. In the center was a large fire pit surrounded by earth toned bricks. That’s where the outdoor kitchen, bar, and lounge were all situated. It frequently hosted team get-togethers and summer barbecues. Triangular slivers of canvas stretched tight between supports to form a stunning geometric pattern around the firepit. They allowed the heat and smoke to rise undisturbed while anyone lounging below remained shaded from sun or rain. 

Tonight, the entire team was gathered. There was no particular cause for celebration, no world threat thwarted, and no one’s birthday. The Avengers were relaxing. The evening was perfect for it. The sky was dusky purple; not yet revealing its stars. It was comfortably warm without making you swelter and sweat. Clint had manned the grill while Nat and Wanda helped prepare the side dishes. You were stuffed and your mind wandered to dessert. 

“S’mores time!” Tony singsongs as he navigates from the elevator over to the lounge with a huge tray filled with supplies. 

You should get up to help him but you’re far too comfortable. You and Bucky share an oversized cushion near the fire pit. Your back rests against the small retaining wall behind you while Bucky lays with his legs casually draped in your lap.

“Need me to explain to you what a s’more is, old man?” 

Bucky may have glared at you, but you only feel the retaliating pinch. “I’ll have you know s’mores were invented  _ before  _ my time.”

“Impossible. There is no time  _ before  _ you. You’re ancient.” Another pinch. This time you tickle the sole of his foot causing him to squirm away. You regret the tickling. 

Bucky walks over to the dining table and rummages through his various jacket pockets. When he’s found what he was searching for he plops down once more, head resting on your lap. He shakes an orange bottle vigorously in front of your face. 

“Let’s make the s’mores  _ s’more  _ fun.” 

“What the hell do you mean?” The rest of the team has come to gather around the fire. Nat assesses the seating arrangements and cocks her brow at you. Your return expression couldn’t say mind-your-damn-business more if you wanted. The casual intimacy you share with Bucky is nice, but it’s never progressed. Everyone was aware of the dance you two were doing except Bucky. 

Bucky shakes the bottle once more demanding your attention. “According to the DSM-5 and my lovely therapist, I have depression, anxiety, PTSD, and I’m sure a whole litany of other diagnoses. One positive is that I qualify for my medical marijuana card.”

“Thank god. I’m sick of you pilfering my stash!” Clint chimes in. 

“ _ As I was saying _ ,” he huffs, “I used my card to stock up on some ‘special chocolates’. I thought we could use some of them in the s’mores.”

“Weed works for you?” Bruce asks, clearly curious about the inner workings of super soldier metabolism. 

“Shocked me too. But yes. Just need a higher dose. I’ve been smoking for years before it was legal.” 

“Bucky Barnes, The Winter Stoner,” you chuckle. Your joke earns massive cackles from the entire team.  Another affectionate pinch to your side. 

“I won’t share with you if you keep teasing me!”

“I don’t want any if I can’t tease you!”

Some of the team welcome the special chocolate to their desserts, others opt for cocktails. You hesitate when faced with your own decision. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” 

“I haven’t…” 

“Never?”

“I have before. But back in high school. I took a couple hits off a friend’s bowl and had such a bad asthma attack I vowed never to touch the stuff again. Not to mention how unsettling it can be for my type A personality to feel out of control.”  

Bucky quirks his lips into a contemplative smirk. “I’m not forcing you, but I think you’d like this. I got an Indica strain.”

“Meaning?”

“Indica. In-da-couch.” Your face remains blank. “It’s relaxing. Other strains can give more of a head high, paranoia, and that out of control feeling you don’t want. Indicas help me turn my brain off and relax.” 

You hesitate for a half beat longer before reaching for the chocolate. 

“Hold up, darlin’.” He snatches the handful of chocolate from you. “You should probably only have one square of the special and two of the regular on your s’more. Don’t want you loopy high. Just relaxed high.” 

“Don’t feel like babysitting loopy me?”

“Only looking out for ya, doll.” He kisses your temple before carrying the marshmallow clad skewers over to the fire; leaving you to grab the plate with the rest of the supplies.

* * *

 

The night buzzed. Everyone on the team was either tipsy or stoned; content and bubbly. The summer stars were hidden from view. A large storm had blown in during the past hour. It didn’t seem to bother anyone. They all knew full well the fire pit area was sheltered allowing the festivities to continue unhindered. 

The team had dispersed to various parts of the rooftop. A group was enjoying a nighttime swim while another splintered off to the grill for more snacks. You hardly paid attention. You watched the thunderstorm intently as it rolls across the grounds of the compound. Thunderheads collapse into destruction only to be remade higher and darker than before as the storm inched closer and closer. You took a deep breath and realized how happy you are. It wasn’t some out of control stupor but a delicate boost of your mood.  

“Someone’s feelin’ it.” Sam’s voice cuts through your revere. You hide your face in Bucky’s shoulder unable to contain the giggles. He rubs gentle strokes up and down your back. 

“You okay, doll?” He whispers low enough only you can here. 

“I’m great, Buck.” You gaze up at him. “Certainly capable of kicking some asses at cards.” 

You abandon the shared cushion and go investigate Sam and Steve’s card game. If you’d looked back, you would have seen the disappointment on Bucky’s face from losing your proximity. There’s plenty of chairs near the boys but the marijuana has made you overly social, so you plop right on Sam’s lap. 

“Hey there, Agent.” Sam purred seductively. One hand holds his collection of cards and the other rests on your hip. Steve glances over at Bucky knowingly. 

“Deal me in, gentleman!”

* * *

 

Sometime during the fifth hand, the storm officially arrived. The patterns and strategy which usually come naturally to you are muddled and poorly formed while stoned. A card shark you were not. The symphony of rolling thunder and lightning crackling was distracting you anyway. 

Those of the group that had gone swimming had called it a night with the first flash of lightning. Your group of four were all that remained on the rooftop in your little oasis. Bucky had been feeding the fire, content to read his book while you played poker with Sam and Steve. He glances over at your face as if sensing your straying focus. You smile warmly at him and declare you’re folding this hand. 

“It’s not even your turn!” Sam scoffs. 

“Let it be, man.” Steve says noticing how Bucky’s looking at you. 

You rifle through the large storage cabinet and dig out your favorite blanket before walking over to Bucky. He had collected the majority of the outdoor pillows creating a massive personal lounging nest beside the fire.

“Darling,” he acknowledges you; looking up from his book and setting it aside. You smile back and hold up the blanket like a suggestion. “ **Come over here and sit by me** .” 

He’s reclined against the mountain of pillows at his back, but his large frame manages to occupy most of the floor cushion. He pats the area between his legs. 

You’re unsure if it’s the weed or Bucky’s own natural high he seems to impart on you, but you’re acutely aware of his body as he embraces you; your back to his chest. He reaches for the blanket, forming a cage around you with his arms as he fluffs it out to cover you both. You settle in against him, seeking his warmth. The storm has dropped the temperature and you have far too much skin exposed to fight off the subtle summer chill. 

“How you feeling, doll?” The words are mumbled against your scalp. It sends a cascade of tingles through you. “Is it too much?”

Is he talking about the weed or his proximity you wonder? 

“I’m actually plateauing? It’s not as nice as it was a couple hours ago.”

He reaches out of your field of vision producing a multicolored glass object. “I was gonna take a hit or two. Wanna top up? Your call, love.” With that one word you almost felt as though you had already taken one. He can’t see your face, so you nod. “What about the asthma?” 

You feel the rumble of laughter reverberate out from his chest behind you. “I haven’t had an attack since I was eighteen, you ass!”

“Better safe than sorry, love.” That pesky word again. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding the glass bowl in front of your face. His warm breath tickles your ear as he narrates his actions. 

“Now I’m gonna do the hard part for you; so you don’t have to worry about that. I’m gonna hold the lighter to the bowl. You can start inhaling. I want you to squeeze my leg when you’re almost done inhaling.” 

“Why?”

“See this little guy here? This hole on the side is called a carb. It helps clear the smoke from the bowl. When you squeeze my leg I’ll move my thumb off the carb, giving you a full hit.” 

You wondered if anyone else explained getting stoned like a mission briefing. Probably just Bucky. “Got it.” 

You lean forward placing your lips around the mouth of the bowl. Despite the mild anxiety, it doesn’t escape you Bucky’s lips have been on this same spot. The lighter sparks and he brings it towards the edge of the bowl. For a moment, you forget to inhale and simply watch the flame lick the sides of the glass and burn a corner of the green herb. You inhale gently, filling your lungs with smoke. You squeeze his thigh and see his thumb move. A rush of smoke fills your lungs to capacity. You hold it for a handful of seconds before sputtering-fuck! You can’t stop the coughing fit. 

“It’s okay, honey. Coughing is normal.” His warm palm strokes soothingly up and down your arm. 

“Is losing an entire lung normal?” 

“Guess that asthma is still hanging around.” 

Bucky smugly takes four more hits cough free while you recover. You turn your body to watch his hands move with practiced grace over the glass. He blows smoke rings on his last hit. 

“Showoff.” It’s your turn to pinch his thigh. “Gimme another.” 

“I don’t know, doll. We don’t have an inhaler up here and I really don’t wanna explain to the med staff why you’re in respiratory failure.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Bucky.” 

You’d never know but every time you say his name tingles fizz at the base of his neck in admiration. 

“I have an idea.”

“Uh oh.” He continues on ignoring your sass. 

“Have you ever heard of a shotgun?” 

“The sawed-off form lives in my thigh holster.” Your sentence sent sparks straight to his jeans. How dare you be so unaware of his pain. 

“As much as I adore your sarcasm, a shotgun is when I take a hit and pass it to you. It makes it less intense and could save your lungs a bit.”

“Pass it from where?”

“My mouth.” You could swear Bucky’s face held a subtle flush. 

Agreeing to the shotgun plan, you scoot to be on your knees between his legs. Face to face. The blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape. 

Spark, burn, inhale. 

Bucky places his hand on your jaw, thumb against your chin; guiding your face towards his. His palm on the sensitive skin near your neck ignites you. 

You part your lips and lean in to meet his but stop short. The distance between you both must be razor thin. He exhales gently. You inhale. The smoke is mellower this time, smooth and tingling. You take everything he gives you, hold, and exhale. Neither of you have pulled away.

“How do you feel?” 

It’s a whisper. Your lips still parted. You feel his flutter against yours as they form the words. Lightning crackles in a spiderweb design followed by a delicious rumble of thunder. Bucky moves a hand to rest on the back of your neck. 

“I feel like that. Lightning and thunder.”

Bucky closes the final distance between you. His lips press pillowy soft against your own. He’s timid. It’s as if he has no idea you’ve wanted this since you joined the team. You deepen the kiss pressing him back into the pillow nest. He tastes like s’mores. Smokey marshmallow and chocolate and something entirely his own. 

“Fuck.” It’s barely above a whisper but the tone is sinful. “Babydoll, we can’t.” Your expression flips between shades of disappointment and hurt. “Doll, no. I want this. I want you. God I wish you knew.” He cradles your face, blue eyes meeting yours. “Sam and Steve are  _ right  _ there.” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Barnes?” 

His eyes glint; awoken by your challenge into some feral state. The responding kiss was bruising and deep but no less tender. You felt your insides thrum in turn. Bucky’s nips onto your bottom lip and neck only stoked your ravenous need for him to be closer. 

Your legs straddled his lap, all prior sense of hesitation abandoned. You’re vaguely aware of Sam and Steve still engrossed in their game across the fire. The pouring rain swallows the heavy lewd breaths shared between you two. 

“You’re killing me, darlin’.” Bucky sighs his words into the crook of your neck. He can’t bring himself to remove his lips off your skin. You pull back anchoring yourself with his eyes. His bottom lip is tinted from love bites. His previously tamed hair is tousled and knotted in your hand. 

“I want you, Bucky.” 

“Show me.” 

The command falls from his mouth; his tone brown sugar sweet. You lean to taste him once more-

“Fucking hell-” You attempt to match his suave delivery, but it comes out a strangled moan. Bucky’s placed one hand on your hip and one on your ass. Using his leverage, he had pressed and pulled you against him. The new friction had your head reeling. You couldn’t help but think back to something you had read as a child in a weather book. 

_ Lightning is a violent electrostatic discharge. _

Your clothed core makes the trip down his body again while he suckles behind your ear. 

_ Two electrically charged bodies temporarily equalize. _

On the return drag, you feel the pressure of his erection against your own burning desire. The clothing between you two doing little to quell the want. 

_ Lightning usually occurs during a thunderstorm. _

This may as well be lighting. Bucky’s firm grip on the flesh of your hips had set a languid pace which ignited a molten plasma deep in your belly.

Push. Pull. Lightning. Thunder. 

Each pass between the two of you creating your own storm while the real storm raged around you. There was no frenzy of ecstasy. Delicious sparks of pleasure are delivered to each of you with every collision of your hips. Your release rolled in slow and steady but powerful, like the thunderheads had earlier in the evening. 

You’d have laughed if you were able. The two of you dry humping beside a bonfire while your friends sat not ten feet away. It was the stuff of horny teenagers, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were caught up in the storm and the chase to your own release. 

“Bucky, I-” the declaration died in your throat with a particularly firm grind of his hips up into you.

“I know, darlin’. Me too.” 

Something so simple shouldn’t be able to ignite you like this; yet it felt like charged particles danced along your skin each place Bucky touched with them all pooling low in your abdomen searching for the chance to explode .

“More.” It’s closer to a choked moan then a word. His lips never leave yours as he rolls you gently below him. The friction delivered from his weighted frame grinding against yours is better than before. 

He ruts once more against you,  grounding you . A  lightning show explodes behind your eyelids, vision going white. Your core quakes with the aftershocks of your release while Bucky rides out his own.

Your hips still against his no longer searching for friction. The air around you feels moist and suffocating. You can’t be sure if it’s from your actions or the humid storm air. Regardless, you shimmy the blanket off stealing a glance over at your teammates. Sam and Steve appear to have switched games and are engrossed in rapidly flipping their cards over; occasionally slapping the pile and cursing at one another.

“Inside?” You jerk your head to the elevator. “It’s all sticky and gross.” 

“Well I’m  _ sorry _ ! It’s not my fault I-” You purse your lips, struggling to maintain a straight face. “You meant the weather?” 

“I did. But knowing I can get you all hot and sticky is always fun.” His eyes go wide. “Let’s go grab a shower, Sargent. Help you cool off.”

“Something tells me you’re gonna have the opposite effect.” 

You grab his hand, eyes glinting as you tug him towards the elevator. Maybe he was right.   

  
  



End file.
